


Lay Me Down

by michaelandthegodsquad



Series: Wherever You Are (The Beach Verse) [1]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Beach Sex, Blow Jobs, Day At The Beach, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Facials, Fluff and Smut, Home Movies, M/M, Sex Tapes, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelandthegodsquad/pseuds/michaelandthegodsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You act like you’ve never seen a goddamn beach before.”</p><p>“I haven’t!” Rhys says excitedly, still not deterred as he bends to swish sand around the water with his flesh hand. “I’ve never even seen an ocean before. Not in person, anyway,” he says more quietly, standing to look out over the horizon.</p><p>OR: Jack and Rhys take their first vacation to Aquator, and make some...interesting home movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> For [mikezakarius](http://mikezakarius.tumblr.com/), who asked for Jack taking care of drunk Rhys, and was kind enough to let me write in my _Wherever You Are_ verse! (As usual I got carried away, welp.)
> 
> Title from "Lay Me Down" by The Dirty Heads.

There aren’t seasons on Helios—or in space, for that matter—but somehow, every year without fail, there is a flu season, and Rhys discovers quite suddenly that Jack is _not_ about that life.

“C’mon, sweet cheeks, we’re going on vacation,” Jack says suddenly from next to his cubicle, not even startling Rhys anymore because he does this _all the time._ It's only been a few months, but from the looks of it the people in the surrounding cubicles aren’t all that bothered by him anymore either.

“What? I can’t go on vacation right now, I’m _working,_ ” Rhys insists, though he’s already shutting down his terminal. “Where would we even go? I’d need to pack—” The person in the next cubicle sneezes but quickly apologizes for the interruption.

When he looks up again, Jack’s nose is wrinkled in disgust. “Fuck it, I’ll buy you whatever you need, we just need to get out of this fucking cesspool.”

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” Rhys asks, trailing behind him to the executive elevator. “At least let me go home and grab my new camera!”

-

“I can’t believe you made us go back for that thing,” Jack says in the shuttle bay, rolling his eyes.

“Trust me, it’ll be worth it,” Rhys tells him, fiddling with the buttons on his camera.

-

“So let me get this straight,” Rhys says as the car rolls into the driveway, “you have a beach house on Aquator…and you still live on Helios?"

“Kiddo, I have a house on every planet in the galaxy. If I stayed in any of them for too long Hyperion would fall apart without—”

Rhys never hears the end of that sentence, because as soon as Jack puts the car in park he’s shoving the door open and running out onto the driveway, bypassing the house completely and heading straight for the beach. He stops only for a moment to leave his skag-skin shoes and striped socks in a pile before making a break for the water, laughing as his feet touch wet sand and the tide splashes against his toes and soaks the ends of his pants.

“This is incredible!” he yells to Jack, who approaches with an annoyed frown.

“You left your door open, asshole,” Jack says, crossing his arms and watching Rhys pay him no mind at all, rolling up his already-wet pants to feel the water on his legs. “You act like you’ve never seen a goddamn beach before.”

“I haven’t!” Rhys says excitedly, still not deterred as he bends to swish sand around the water with his flesh hand. “I’ve never even seen an ocean before. Not in person, anyway,” he says more quietly, standing to look out over the horizon.

“….whatever,” Jack grumbles behind him. “S’not _that_ cool.”

“So!” Rhys says after a moment, turning with a wide smile. “What are we gonna do first? Sandcastles? Surfing? Boat ride? Do you have a boat? Let’s get a boat!”

“Actually,” Jack says, grinning and pulling Rhys close by his tie, “I was thinking there’s still a whole beach house we need to break in.”

Rhys frowns. “But…sandcastles.”

“But me, bending you over every piece of furniture in the house, then coming out here and fucking you on the beach.”

Rhys flushes, robotic hand scratching at the back of his neck. “Well yeah, but…. _sandcastles,_ Jack.”

“Oh my god, it’s like talking to a dumb child,” Jack grumbles, letting go of Rhys’s tie and scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fine. Whatever. But we gotta get you some clothes first, and we’re fooling around in the fitting room. Deal?”

Rhys grins widely. “Deal.”

-

Fooling around in the fitting room gets derailed by the realization that Rhys’s robotic arm can’t go in the water. Shopping for clothes turns into shopping for a waterproof functional prosthetic, which then turns to dinner and “Wait, there are fish here? And people eat them?” which turns into Rhys discovering that he really, _really_ doesn’t like fish.

What he does like, though, are all the drinks that can be made from all the fresh fruit you don’t find on space stations, _especially_ the drake fruit margaritas.

“Keep them coming!” he tells the waitress enthusiastically, already halfway through his third. “This is amazing, you can’t even taste the alcohol!” Jack only nurses his rum and watches Rhys knowingly. The moment Rhys tries to stand after dinner, the dizziness hits him and his knees buckle, and he leans against the table with a quiet _oof._

“Y’alright there, kiddo?” Jack asks him, smirking.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys slurs, shutting his eyes. “M’just dizzy…m’arms and legs’re heavy…and m’head is full of…air? Maybe?” He gives Jack a scandalized look, brows furrowed and eyes wide. “I think…m’drunk…maybe…”

Jack huffs out a laugh, getting an arm around Rhys’s waist. “Yeah, no shit, cupcake. C’mon.” He lets Rhys hang onto him as they leave the restaurant, stopping occasionally for giggle fits that make Rhys’s knees weak.

Rhys is nearly asleep by the time they reach the house; when he gets out of the car he ambles lazily towards the sand, immediately lying on his back and making some messy approximation of sand angels.

“You better not throw up on my beach,” Jack says, standing over him in judgment.

Rhys only smiles at him, eyes glassy. “C’mooon, sit— _hicc—_ sit wimme.” Jack rolls his eyes but sits on the sand next to Rhys, leaning back on his hands and watching the tide roll in. Beside him Rhys sits up, his hair wild and full of sand, and gives Jack a sly grin. “Jaaaaaack,” he whines, “don’t be maaaaad, s’fun, we’re having funnn.” He fists a hand in Jack’s vest and hauls himself over to straddle him, arms and legs flailing before he finally settles heavily in his lap.

“What are you doing,” Jack deadpans, wrinkling his nose at the smell of tequila on Rhys’s breath.

“Makin’ you have fun,” Rhys slurs with a grin, leaning in to kiss Jack, missing his mouth entirely and mostly just sloppily mouthing his chin.

“Smooth, cupcake,” Jack mumbles, pushing Rhys away and wiping the drool from his chin. “If getting slobbered on ever gets fun I’ll be sure to call you.” He pushes Rhys away again and moves to stand.

“No no wait,” Rhys insists, pulling Jack back down. “I can—I can make it fun, just—” He screws his face up in concentration and his uncoordinated hands scramble to unbuckle Jack’s belt. “I can do it,” he says slowly, looking up at Jack with a hazy smile.

“Now you’re talking,” Jack says with a grin, reaching behind Rhys to palm his ass.

“Beach s’nice,” Rhys murmurs, brows furrowing as he concentrates on finally getting Jack’s pants open, licking his hand sloppily before getting his cock out and stroking in long, messy pulls. “S’nice bein’ here wit’you.” He leans forward to get his mouth on Jack’s neck, trailing wet, sloppy kisses on his skin.

“Yeah, I bet, pumpkin,” Jack says with a grunt, smirking as he untucks Rhys’s shirt and gets his hands down the back of his pants. “C’mon, Rhysie, why don’t you put that mouth to good use, huh?”

Rhys grins, climbing off Jack’s lap to kneel by him, but before he can get his mouth anywhere near Jack’s cock, he frowns, moving away. “Don’t feel s’good, Jack...think I’m gonna—” He turns away quickly, retching, and immediately vomits in the sand.

“ _Gross,_ ” Jack says loudly, standing and putting some distance between himself and Rhys before zipping up his pants again. “I _told_ you not to throw up on my goddamn beach!” But Rhys doesn’t seem to hear him, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve and collapsing into the sand a few feet away. There’s a relieved sort of grin on his face as he sighs and almost immediately falls asleep.

Jack watches his breath even out with a scowl. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” He nudges Rhys with his foot, but Rhys only sighs and gets more comfortable in the sand. Jack sighs, wanting nothing more than to leave him there for the night, but the tide is getting higher by the minute and he huffs, grabbing Rhys by the ankles and beginning to drag him through the sand and back up to the house. “Goddamn lightweight asshole,” he grunts, hoping the tide will wash away Rhys’s mess before morning.

-

Rhys is still asleep when Jack gets up to make coffee and finds his camera charging on the kitchen counter. He eyes it as he sips his coffee, raising an eyebrow as he finally picks it up.

“Worth it, huh?” he says with a smirk, leaving his empty mug in the sink and heading back to the bedroom.

* * *

 

The video is as follows:

Rhys is lying in a pile of sheets on the bed, facing the open double doors that lead right out onto the beach. The sound of Jack’s footsteps as the camera rounds the bed, and then Rhys comes into view, limbs sprawled out and with a waste basket on the floor next to him.

“Look at this,” Jack’s voice says off-camera, and then he zooms in, catching the dark spot on Rhys’s pillow where his open mouth has been drooling onto it. “Free vacation on the best planet in the galaxy—with _Handsome friggin’ Jack,_ no less—and this is how he spends it. Ungrateful little shit.” The shot moves down Rhys’s body, pausing for a moment where the beginning of his bare ass peeks out over the edge of the sheet, followed by a slow pan of his legs. A loud and sudden snore from Rhys has the camera snapping back up to his face, where he’s rolled onto his side.

Jack’s hand comes into view and settles on Rhys’s shoulder before shaking him violently. “Wakey wakey, cupcake,” Jack says, sounding delighted; Rhys rolls onto his back with a groan, blinking his eyes open and squinting at the bright light coming in. “I’m never drinking again,” he promises, eyes framed with dark circles. “I feel like skag shit.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jack tells him, and Rhys squints over at him instead.

“What are you doing with my camera?”

“Documenting your misery.”  He moves closer, the sheets rustling as he sits on the edge of the bed. “How’re you doing, champ? Didja have fun ruining my beach last night?” Rhys groans, draping his arm over his eyes. “You owe me big time, kiddo. I’m sure as hell not picking up after you, and it ain’t gonna clean itself.”

Rhys grunts, shooting a glare at Jack. “Then it can wait until I’m feeling human again,” he grumbles, rolling back onto his stomach and covering himself with the blanket.

“Are you fucking—” Jack hisses, the camera making clicking sounds he puts in on the nightstand. “Laziest piece of—” Another click and the video cuts out.

-

The video continues on the beach, the sun high and bright in the sky, opening on Jack’s face where he peers at the camera over his sunglasses. “Look at this shit,” he says, pointing the camera towards Rhys, who’s kneeling next to a strangely-shaped pile of sand. “What kind of fucking sandcastle is that? It looks like a rundown bandit camp.”

Rhys chuckles, scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably because…I’ve never actually? Seen a castle before? I don’t know what they’re supposed to look like.”

A moment of silence, and then Jack mumbling. “Fucking hell. Take this.” The sand and sunny sky blur by as the camera is handed to Rhys, who points it back at Jack as he walks back to the house in a huff. Rhys turns the camera back on himself, only to shrug with a “Who knows?” face before ending the recording.

-

It opens again, first, on a pile of plastic shovels, pails, and other sandcastle-building implements, then pans up to a grand sandcastle, with multiple tiers and a sturdy outer wall, little drink umbrellas taking the place of flags. The beginnings of a moat surround some parts of the castle, and the camera follows it to Jack, who’s still digging its shape around the perimeter. “This is incredible, Jack,” Rhys says off-camera, catching Jack’s small grin. “Hey, how’d you get so good at building sandcastles anyway? Get a lot of practice in, or something?” Rhys laughs, but Jack pauses his digging and quickly looks away. “…Jack?” Rhys says hesitantly, then, “Jack, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?” Jack quickly looks back and glares at the camera, and the video cuts out abruptly.

-

The next bit is clearly filmed from the house; in the distance Rhys sits at the edge of the beach where dry and wet sand meet. The sun is getting ready to set, still bright but lowering on the horizon. There are shuffling sounds, and then the camera moving unsteadily across the beach and over to Rhys. The sandcastle from earlier is in ruins, some parts destroyed with others gradually crumbling, but the plastic buckets and shovels are neatly stacked. A grunt, and then the view is lowered to Rhys’s level. He’s drawn his knees up, his arms resting on them as he stares out at the water, looking pensive.

The camera zooms in on his face, where a few faint dots have broken out high on his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t know you got freckles in the sun,” Jack says quietly off-camera.

Rhys’s hair is wavy and weighed down from where he’d apparently been swimming when he looks over with a sort of sad smile. “Neither did I.” He looks at Jack, almost directly into the camera, like he’s trying to figure out what to say, but the moment he opens his mouth Jack cuts him off.

“I’m gonna jizz on ‘em in a minute.” Rhys’s face goes from somber to scandalized in no time flat. _“Jack.”_ He swats at the camera and Jack’s laughter can be heard as the video goes black again.

-

Still, once the video picks up again, the first thing in view is Jack’s legs, spread wide where he’s on his beach chair, making room for Rhys to kneel on the sand between them. He’s reaching through the unbuttoned front of Jack’s swim shorts to get his cock out, still only half hard, licking his lips before closing them around the head with a quiet sigh. His cheeks hollow as he begins sucking lightly, flesh hand stroking the rest until Jack is fully hard in his mouth.

“That’s it, princess,” Jack says quietly, and for a moment the wet sounds of Rhys’s mouth working his cock can be heard over the waves lapping against the shore in the background. “C’mon, lemme see,” he mumbles, and Rhys glances up at him before turning his head, angling Jack’s cock until it bulges obscenely through his cheek.

“Fuck, that’s nice,” Jack hisses, then, “open up for me, sweetheart.” Rhys lets Jack slip from his mouth with a wet _pop_ and opens his mouth wide, already sticking his tongue out in anticipation of what he wants.

Jack’s hand appears to take hold of his cock, where he slaps it against Rhys’s tongue, sighing at the wet smacking sounds it makes. “Look at me,” he says, slipping back into his mouth, and Rhys’s eyes dart up to the camera, wide and dark, as he closes his lips around Jack again.

Jack’s hand moves to the back of Rhys’s head, pushing him down further onto his cock. “Don’t choke,” he says quietly, and Rhys visibly relaxes, his eyes slipping shut as Jack slides deeper into his mouth, until Rhys’s nose presses into thick, dark hair. “There’s my special boy,” Jack sighs, holding Rhys there a moment longer and swearing under his breath before letting go.

Rhys pulls back with a deep gasp, eyes watering and lips slick and shiny with spit where he wipes them with the back of his hand and looks at Jack expectantly. “C’mon, handsome, you’re gonna need both hands,” he says with a grin, already tugging at the tie of his own swim shorts.

The video cuts abruptly to a view of Rhys kneeling over Jack, who’s moved to lie back on the sand, one hand on Rhys’s thigh. Rhys’s swim shorts are gone, his cock hard and flushed pink, his prosthetic bracing himself on Jack’s chest while the other moves behind him. “There you go,” Jack says quietly, and then Rhys sinks down with a sigh, getting his other hand on Jack’s chest and rolling his hips with a satisfied hum.

For the first few minutes of filming, the camera focuses on the movement of Rhys’s hips where they rock, his cock bobbing with each movement, occasionally slowing to a grind as he can be heard letting out breathy moans from above, contrasting Jack’s low grunts. The camera then pans up to Rhys’s face, where a lens flare makes it seem like he’s glowing before it refocuses. His eyes are closed as he bites his lip and lets out soft little moans, gasping before looking down at the camera and smiling; his skin is sun-kissed already, taking on an olive tone, his freckles and the setting sun behind him making him look soft and radiant.

Rhys’s breathing picks up, then, and he looks at the camera with glassy eyes and whispers Jack’s name; the shot pans back down to Rhys’s cock, flushed and wet at the tip and dragging against Jack’s stomach every time he rolls his hips downwards. Jack’s hand drops from Rhys’s face to wrap around his dick and Rhys whines and rides him more frantically, his hips moving faster while also straining to buck into Jack’s hand. Jack whispers encouragements and strokes Rhys until he comes onto Jack’s stomach, some of it shooting dangerously close to the camera’s lens, the rest dribbling down onto Jack’s fist.

Jack tosses the camera aside; it lands sideways in the sand, but still has just enough of a view of him grabbing Rhys’s hips and bucking upwards, pulling him down as he fucks up into him at a fast pace. The sound is muffled, but the camera still picks up the way Rhys whimpers and sobs every time Jack drives into him, and just beneath that, the way Jack swears under his breath.

Rhys is maneuvered onto his back, where Jack’s legs are seen straddling his chest, knees settling by his underarms. Jack leans over to grab the camera again and point it down at Rhys’s face, flushed and with Jack’s cock only inches away while he strokes himself quickly with slick wet sounds.  Rhys opens his mouth wide, says “C’mon, gimme,” and holds his tongue out, the tip resting under the head of Jack’s cock.

With a grunt Jack spills onto Rhys’s tongue, mostly, though some does shoot up onto his cheeks, trickling lazily onto the bridge of his nose. He rests the head on Rhys’s lower lip and lets the rest drip lazily into his open, panting mouth, and Jack can be heard catching his breath as his hand runs through Rhys’s hair.

“Told you I was gonna come on ‘em,” he says after a moment with a breathy chuckle, and Rhys’s eyes widen before he just huffs out a sort of rueful laugh.

 _“Jack.”_ The camera moves closer to Rhys’s face, just catching a glimpse of Jack leaning down to kiss him before it cuts out again.

-

The last bit of the video opens on Rhys’s robotic arm, the regular one again, where it’s folding a shirt and dropping it into a small suitcase. Then it zooms out to show all of Rhys, back in the clothes he was wearing on the day they arrived, and Jack’s legs, back in their jeans but with bare feet lounging up on the bed.

“Seriously, again with the camera?” Rhys says, laughing and folding his swim shorts. “I think you’ve used it more than I have.”

“Hey, say what you want, cupcake, but some of this is gonna be _real_ fun to watch later.” Rhys blushes, folding another pair of shorts, and frowns. “What’s the problem, Rhysie? Don’t wanna go home?”

Rhys shrugs and drops the shorts into the suitcase. “It’s so beautiful here. I hate thinking about not seeing it again.” He folds one more shirt, dropping it into the suitcase. “Aren’t you gonna pack anything?” he asks, and Jack’s ankles cross at the end of the bed.

“Nah, I just leave it here for when I come back.” Rhys nods with a sad frown and drops a pair of boating shoes into the suitcase before zipping it up. They’re quiet for a moment, and then Jack says, “Why don’t you just leave that in the closet, you’ll need it all for next year.”

And Rhys pauses, glancing at Jack with a surprised look. “Next year?”

The camera moves with Jack as he shrugs. “Give or take. Whenever we end up coming back, y’know.” In the corner of the shot his hand waves flippantly, and Rhys looks pleasantly surprised when he looks at Jack, nodding.

“Yeah, okay,” he says quietly, but instead of putting the suitcase in the closet he climbs onto the bed, taking the camera from Jack’s hand and setting it on the nightstand. The camera catches him straddling Jack’s lap, hands fisting his jacket while Jack’s rest on his thighs, as he leans in to kiss him. Very faintly he can be heard whispering “Thank you,” against Jack’s mouth, to which Jack just grins.

“C’mon, we got an hour before we need to leave for the shuttle bay.” And Rhys laughs, nodding, his smile wide as he leans in close to the lens to shut the camera off for the last time, the image fading to black.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come harass me on [Tumblr](http://michaelandthegodsquad.tumblr.com/) and find out how you can get me to write stuff for you.


End file.
